


They'll Be Us

by jesterlady



Category: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: Angst, Gen, Introspection, One Shot, Robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:37:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesterlady/pseuds/jesterlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek's thoughts as he watches Cameron dance, thoughts of what was, what is, what could be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They'll Be Us

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own TSCC. The title is from the show.

It was the sickening beauty of it that twisted his guts. No machine should be able to move that way. It should never be allowed to mimic the human form to such an extent that it looked like a beautiful girl lost in the music of her soul. That thing had no soul. It was artificial, cold, incapable of choosing for itself.

That's what he'd been taught practically his whole life. 

He could remember the day he'd stood with Kyle and watched their entire world disappear. Everyone alive after Judgment Day could recall it with perfect clarity. It had happened because of the machines. Because they'd grown too smart and decided humanity was a risk. Yet, he'd always wondered about that. If a machine was sentient and decided to kill off its creator, did that mean the machine was capable of being like a human? It had never made sense to him when he was so young, struggling to find something to eat, trying to make sure Kyle didn't die of the myriad of things he could die from. But then he'd become a soldier and he didn't think about it anymore.

Soldiers couldn't wonder about the enemy. They couldn't take the time to ponder before firing the vital shot. He would have been dead more times than he could count if he had. He had to become a machine himself, had to close himself off to everything but the inner fire that would keep him alive, keep him from eating a bullet like so many of his friends. He comforted himself with the thought of that bit of him that refused to give up. It made him feel more human, feel more like something worth fighting for.

Coming back here was the best and worst thing that had ever happened to him. Here he was, back in a world where you could go outside during the day, where there were things like hamburgers made out of actual beef and salads. But he couldn't forget what had happened to him, couldn't forget that those hamburgers would become rats and that even if he could leave the house, he was a fugitive for trying to prevent the worst holocaust the world would ever know.

He couldn't forget he was a murderer, not just a soldier anymore. Andy Goode had no weapon when he died, had never heard of Skynet, had never become Billy Wisher. But he was dead for things he had not done and Derek had stood outside upon the grass in his bare feet and mourned him. He'd mourned his best friend while he'd marveled at the feel of something as simple as grass. Everything was something else now. Everything was good and bad at the same time. The world was full of contradictions. Not the least of which was the machine.

He could remember seeing it for the first time, knowing the figure of the girl was nothing but metal. He could see its resolute and stoic face reaching for its gun to kill him for trying to kill it. Now, here it was, just living with them. It made him feel sick. But he was glad for it at the same time. It helped him not become lost in the wonder of actual showers and clean sheets. He had to stand guard, retain his training, be on watch for when it went bad. 

Yet, being here now, not constantly fighting, made him revert to some of his former ponderings. How did the machines work? How could they do what they did without believing in why? How could she protect John day after day when he would be the cause of her death? It made no sense. She was a walking contradiction. And now she was a she. When had that happened?

He couldn't move as he watched her. The sight was too beautiful, too horrible. It was like being frozen in a slow burning heat. Impossible, painful, and unbelievably lovely. The way she danced was not just perfect. He was sure any machine could get the form down within one view of it. But she…she improvised, she decided what to do and how. She chose her music; she chose how she would look. It had no relative meaning to her mission to protect John. It was not part of her programming. And it shook him to his core. Tears filled his eyes and he wanted to weep for humanity. 

He was sure John would say it meant that perhaps total destruction of either side would not be necessary, that there was hope for the metal contraptions. But Sarah would know what it really meant. It would mean that the machines had already won. They had taken over their masters. They had become humanity so completely there was no need for humans.

He knew that humanity was generally slow to discover what was really true. They had persecuted their fellow humans for all of their history. They had wanted to be all alike because differences scared them. And now they were scared that something different wanted to be like them, because now they wanted to be different, wanted to be special. Perhaps their time was done. 

But he didn't want to be done. He wanted to be himself, Derek Reese, and he wanted to live in a world with grass and hamburgers and showers and flesh that was really flesh. He'd lived the other life of Judgment Day and it wasn't worth living. He could never have the old life that he wanted. He could see a new life in her and in John's treatment of his metal protector. It was desecration, but, maybe, it was better than the other version.

He watched her dance every day. He didn't know why. He cried every day. She was different every day, even more beautiful. She was his destruction and John's salvation and somehow, more than machine. Becoming human. Becoming us.


End file.
